


Could Have Been, Never Was: Ward/Simmons Drabble & Ficlet Collection

by alessandralee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Romance, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:58:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandralee/pseuds/alessandralee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of the Ward x Simmons drabbles and ficlets I have written, mostly prompted via tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Atrocious Timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going forward, I will be posted all of my Ward x Simmons drabbles here. There are approximately 43 already posted in my first drabble collection (titled AoS Tumblr Drabble Prompts), they will not be reposted here.
> 
> Other ships I write for frequently, may receive their own collections. Skye/Lance and Skimmons already have collections. I will be starting another collection for gen fics and pairings I write less often.

He has to admit, his timing is atrocious, but it doesn't make the admission any less true. 

Jemma’s eyebrows arch up in perfect symmetry.

"And you couldn’t have mentioned this months ago, Grant?" she says with a sigh, pulling out her phone.

"I didn’t realize I had such strong feelings about suits until I actually tried it on."

"Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are."

He lays his hands on her shoulders and looks into her eyes.

"I have worn dozens of black suits in my life. And I have done some awful things in them. So on my wedding, I would like to wear something that doesn’t remind me of that."

Jemma smiles at him. She knows how much effort it probably took for him to admit that, he’s usually not one for emotional confessions.

"Well in this case, you’re lucky you’re a spy. I’m sure Coulson has something gray or brown sitting in a warehouse and already fit to your measurements. And you’re lucky we know at least three qualified pilots who can fly it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 10th, 2014


	2. Fixed

"What do you mean you _thought_ you fixed it?"

"I mean, I thought I copied what Fitz does when he fixes it, but contrary to popular belief we don’t share a brain so I can’t be sure. If you think you can do better, then by all means give it a go, but don’t get angry with me because I can’t do everyone’s jobs," Jemma yells.

Ward is suddenly quiet. He hadn’t meant to get angry with her like that, he’s just frustrated that nothing seems to be going right on this mission.

If he was alone, he’d be less worried. But it’s hard to be reckless and dangerous when he knows she can’t get back to the bus without him.

"I’m sorry," he whispers after a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 10th, 2014


	3. Fake ID

“What are those?” Ward asks, walking up behind Jemma and Fitz.

“Driver’s licenses,” Fitz replies absently, holding one up for Jemma, who laughs at the sight of it.

“Why would you need fifty of them?” Ward asks.

“We don’t anymore,” Fitz holds up another one and Jemma laughs even harder.

Ward grabs one off the table and takes a look at it. Jemma’s face, about a decade younger, smiles back at him, accompanied by the contact information for one Elizabeth McGovern of Nashville Tennessee.

“They’re fake IDs,” Jemma says, just as soon as he’s come to that conclusion on her own.

She gets up out of her seat and gives him a light peck on the cheek.

“They were an experiment,” Fitz tells him.

“When we were at the Academy,” Jemma elaborates.

Ward grabs a few more and looks through them. What experiment could they possibly be doing with fifty fake IDs.

All of the ones in his hand are of Jemma. At least, all the photos are hers. Some of them include some unique hairstyles Fitz must have digitally added. He can’t image that Jemma actually had a bright pink mohawk, even at seventeen.

Each one has a different name, and a different hometown. Mohawk Jemma is apparently from Spain.

He doesn’t get it, and he almost wishes he’d just left them alone in the first place. Those two do some strange things together.

But he keeps thinking about it. What could Jemma possibly need fifty fake IDs for? In the end his curiosity wins out.

“So what were those IDs for?” he asks, when he finds her alone in the lab after dinner.

“Oh,” she seems startled be his question. “They were an old experiment of Fitz’s.”

That Fitz needed 50 fake licenses with Jemma’s face on them makes even less sense. He should have just let it go.

“Experiment how?” he perches on the edge of an empty lab table.

“A study of how little people pay attention. He wanted to find out how ridiculous he could make them look, how clearly wrong the information could be, yet still have it be accepted at bars.”

“And?”

“And every single one of those worked. He had quite a lucrative business going for a while, before having to sneak off campus to drink lost its novelty.”

That’s actually a much more normal story than Ward had been expecting.

He pulls out one of the cards, which he’d pocketed earlier, and hands it to Jemma.

“You know, that’s a really cute haircut you’ve got going on there,” he tells her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 17th, 2014


	4. Taylor Swift

Skye once told Jemma that there is a Taylor Swift song relevant to every romantic situation.

And on one particularly sleepless night, Jemma decides it wouldn’t hurt to see if Taylor can offer her something to make her feel less alone.

Between bonus track and unreleased demos, she ends up with well over 10 hours of songs, so it takes her two nights to get through it all.

But sadly “every romantic situation” doesn’t include ‘You loved someone else so I never told you about my feelings and then you pushed me and my best friend out of an airplane.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 18th, 2014 for the itsamagical100 Drabble theme "Taylor Swift"


	5. Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Domestic AU Prompt List

“Sure is storming out there,” Grant comments, entering the living room.

“Sure is,” Jemma echoes, looking up from her book to take in the rain falling outside their windows.

“And that thunder sure is loud.”

It’s an odd comment for him to make, and Jemma’s not sure where he’s going with it.

“I suppose.”

“All I’m saying,” he sits down next to her on the couch, “is that if you get scared—“

His words are interrupted by the sound of her loud laughter.

“No, continue,” she urges him, unable to contain her amusement as his ridiculous statement. “If I get scared of the thunder then…”

“Then I will sit here on the couch with you for comfort,” his voice is small and monotone and Jemma thinks she might have hurt his feelings.

“As tempting as it is,” she tells him, “to have you protect me from the lightening that as a statistically low chance of hitting our home, and plenty of safe paths to the ground even if it did, I think I’ll be fine.”

He stands up and heads for the doorway, probably to mope or brood somewhere where she can’t see him and call him on it.

“But,” Jemma adds before he can leave, “if you’re offering to spend the night as my human pillow, I will gladly take you up on that offer.”

Which is how they end up curled up together on the couch, her leaning back against his chest, both reading books as the storm rages on outside.


	6. Neighbors

“What could anyone possibly need that much plastic sheeting for?” Grant remarks.

“Put the binoculars down, Grant Ward. You’re being weird,” Jemma sets down her book to tell him.

“Don’t worry, they can’t see me,” he excuses himself. “But I’m serious.”

“Well, they’re moving into a new house. Perhaps they’re painting,” she suggests.

He knows it’s reasonable. But he’s been on leave due to injury for over a month and it’s starting to drive him up the wall. If something exciting doesn’t happen soon, he might go crazy before the next two weeks are up.

“Or they’re building a meth lab,” he tells her.

Jemma snorts, “In this neighborhood?”

“It’s the perfect cover. Everyone expects to find secret meth labs in trailer parks, not suburban developments.”

Jemma gets out bed and walks over the window Grant’s peeking out of.

“How much longer until you’re cleared for duty again?” she asks, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his back.

“Thirteen days.”

Thirteen days too many. Jemma never thought she’d be looking forward to Grant going back into the field.

“Or they could be serial killers,” he suggests.

Jemma sighs deeply, “They’re not serial killers. I know you want them to be serial killers, because you want something to do. But there’s a leaky faucet in the guest bathroom and the basement carpeting needs to be removed. Try taking care of those before you let your imagination run wild.”

“Serial killers would be more fun,” Grant jokes.

Jemma pulls back and smacks lightly on his back.

“Serial killers would be more fun for _you_ ,” she tells him. “For the rest of us, it would be a nightmare.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t love to examine whatever they’re doing with the bodies?” he turns around to face her.

“First of all, they’re not doing anything with the bodies, because there are no bodies. And second of all, I’m a scientist, not a medical examiner.”

“But you were a medical examiner,” he points out.

“And a medical doctor, and a low level spy,” she tends to get worked up about this. “And now we have enough of those than I am not necessary.”

“Fine, maybe they are just paintings,” Grant agrees.

Jemma does play medical doctor one last time, though, when she calls Grant’s commanding officer to insist that her husband has healed enough to go back to work immediately.


	7. Prank

First of all, Jemma Simmons is a terrible liar. And second of all, she’s not the type to be afraid of a noise in the closet. What’s the worst that could be in there? A squirrel? A bird? The woman works with live mice on a regular basis.

So really, it’s his own damn fault for falling for it.

He blames it on his fragile male ego (to himself, he’d never admit to having a fragile ego out loud). Usually, the closest she lets him get to being the strong, protective one is opening jars while she cooks.

So when he opens the door to their bedroom closet and gets sprayed with shaving cream, he has no one to blame but himself.

“Seriously?” he turns to Jemma, who’s laughing so hard she’s doubled over on the floor. “Shaving cream?”

“It’s a classic,” she explains, although she’s laughing so hard it takes a while to get it all out.

“Shaving cream on my hand while I’m sleeping a little tickle under the nose is a classic, Grant replies, surveying the contraption currently standing in front of his clothes, “this is just using your genius for evil. I mean, there are almost a dozen bottles in here. I’m completely covered.”

“Fitz helped,” Jemma slowly pulls herself back together and gets up off the floor.

“Well Fitz is lucky he isn’t here right now.”

“Wha—“ she starts to speak but it’s cut off by Grant rushing at her and wrapped his shaving cream-covered arms around her.

“Grant no,” she protests, but he just pulls her closer and lifts her off the ground, “my jumper.” She’s laughing, though, so she can’t be that mad about her clothes.

Once he has her back on the ground, Grant leans in and kisses her softly on the lips.

She grimaces, “I should have used whipped cream.”


	8. WWII AU

She wants to tell him, really. She’s actually struggling not to. She’s never been very good at lying, and every time Grant asks about her secretary position she’s convinced she’s going to blow her cover.

Thankfully, Agent Carter personally assured her she’ll never have to do any actual spying.

No, she’ll just be analyzing the data collected by the actual spies, and creating the tools they’ll be using in the field.

It’s a dream come true, really. Hence the fact that when Peggy (she wants Jemma to call her by her first name) offered her the position, Jemma actually hugged her. She’s not even too embarrassed by that in retrospect.

They’ve put her in charge of her own lab. Well actually, she’s co-running with an engineer by the name of Leopold Fitz, declared unfit for service due to brain damage incurred as a child. But she’s met him and she’s convinced there isn’t anyone better for her to work with.

They’re going to do amazing things together, she knows it.

Which means, for the most part, she’s been able to focus on what time she has left with Grant before he ships off.

She feels guilty about it. Not only is she lying to him about while she’ll be doing while he’s gone, she’s going to be perfectly safe while he’s going to be getting shot at by Nazis.

She can’t stop imagining all the terrible things that could happen to him.

Skye, her new roommate and one of aforementioned actual spies, says that Jemma’s in the best possible position to keep an eye on Ward, through their network, so at least there’s that.

It’s not much of a comfort, though. All it means is that she’ll know that much sooner if something awful happens.

The thought of that has made Jemma a little indulgent. There are two days until Grant ships out, and she’s been spending nearly every waking minute with him. She’s pretty sure they’ve covered every inch of this town twice, looking for things to do together. And they linger on her doorstep far longer than she would find appropriate under most circumstances.

Still, she knows it’s those little moments that she’ll cling to while he’s away. So she’s making the most of them.


	9. Librarian AU

Grant Ward likes morning shifts. There are no teenagers trying to sneak food into the reference department, and pretty much the only people who show up are seniors.

He’s thumbling through Booklist and taking notes for future orders, when someone approaches his desk.

“Can I help you?” he pushes the magazine to the side and asks the young woman.

“Yes, I need help finding some books for a friend who’s at home on bed rest,” she asks.

She has an English accent and Ward figures she must work in the labs on the other side of town. Shield Tech pulls in a lot of foreign scientists.

“What kind of books does this friend generally read?” he asks.

“Well he’s been watching a lot of zombie movies lately, and I was hoping I could find some zombie books,” she tells him.

That’s actually a fairly simple request for him to fill. Zombies are pretty popular these days. Ward momentarily wonders if this woman’s friend is actually a boyfriend. He pushes that thought aside. Flirting on the job is completely inappropriate.

It takes him a few minutes to pull up a list of zombie books and check the OPAC to see which ones they own.

Ward is generally quick and competent when it comes to patrons, so the fact that he’s taking his time as he walks her to each book, forgoing alphabetical order just to get a few extra minutes, is worrisome.

But it’s well worth it when, after his shift ends, he finds her walking out of the library at the same time as him. It’s even more worth is when she asks for his phone number.


	10. The New Neighbors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mini-sequel to [The New Neighbors](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1080782), which I wrote last year for a Christmas exchange.

Jemma Simmons likes to keep busy. Jemma Harris, on the other hand, has way too much spare time.

They moved into the house in Connecticut a little over a week ago, and Jemma had already cleaned it from top to bottom. At least Grant had a cover job to go to every day, all Jemma needed to leave the house to do was walk the dog.

They were taking some very long walks. She was concerned she might be tiring Phil out.

At least the kitchen was fully stocked. Jemma Harris shared Jemma Simmons’s stress baking habit. She and Grant were going to return from this mission significantly heavier.

“Honey, I’m home” Grant calls at precisely 5:43PM.

Jemma rolls her eyes, he’s been saying that every night when he gets home. It was funny the first couple of times, but now she’s just restless.

She needs a new hobby.

“How was work?” she asks.

“Uneventful,” he says, which she assumes means he’s not getting anywhere with his leads. “I did bring home pizza, though.”

For all of the stress-baking Jemma’s done, they’ve been pretty reliant on take-out. Maybe she should google some low calorie recipes so counteract the effects of all her cakes and cookies and pies.

Jemma Harris probably believes that’s how nutrition works.

“I’m thinking of joining Tracey Miller’s sewing group,” she tells him, once he’s changed out of his work clothes and she’s put out some paper plates to eat off of.

“Can you sew?” Grant asks her.

She walks up to him and pulls up on the sleeve of his t-shirt. There’s a long scar along his shoulder, where she had to give him stitches two months ago.

“Fair enough,” he comments. “You can sew.”

Jemma grabs a slice of pizza and sits down at the table.

“It’s not even that I like Tracey,” she confesses. “I just need something to do.”

He comes up behind her, resting a hand on either one of her shoulders.

“I know. I wish I was bringing home more for you to do, I really do. But if this weapons group really is working out of this town, they’re hiding it well,” he tells her, rubbing absently at her shoulders.

She feels warm all over, and it’s almost enough that she doesn’t realize he’s been discussing their mission out loud.

Not that it isn’t allowed, they just agreed to keep it to a minimum. The more time Jemma spends in her cover, the more natural it will be. And so far, it’s been going well.

They survived the Millers’ Fourth of July party, after all. And she’d even allowed herself a glass of sangria that night.

Maybe tonight she’d crack open a bottle of wine. She might have gone a little crazy at the liquor store on Tuesday.

“Any word from Coulson?” she asks when Grant sits across from her with his own slice of pizza.

“Just the usual,” he replies. “I think he’s disappointed I haven’t found anything yet, too.”

There’s an almost imperceptible sag of his shoulders (he’s really good at his job), and Jemma thinks for a second that no one is harder on Grant than himself.

She reaches across the table and lays a hand on top of his.

“You’re not a miracle worker, Grant. Just give it time,” she tells him.

“I just want to get out of here and go home,” he tells her.

She does too. As much as she enjoys curling up next to Grant at night, she’s already tired of living someone else’s life. The house is unnecessarily big, her clothes are too stiff, and she really misses her lab.

If she could, she’d keep the dog and the husband (she really shouldn’t think of him like that, it’ll make things awkward when they go back to their normal lives. Besides, she’d really like to go through all those steps that happen before marriage, too), but the rest of this life is just not for her.

“And we will. After you take out the bad guys,” she tells him. “Although I’d like to at least run some sort of sample analysis on something before we go. I’d like to contribute something.”

He nods and gives her a small smile. She withdraws her hand.

“You’re contributing a lot, Jemma,” he tells her.


	11. Male Bonding

Jemma sighs, "I told you not to get him that." 

"He said he wanted to experience American culture," Grant defends himself.

"So you thought baseball tickets were appropriate?" Jemma gives him that look, the one that tells him she knows he knows better.

"The only thing more American that baseball is apple pie, and we both know I’m not exactly the world’s best baker."

Jemma sighs, “I told you that a museum pass or tickets to a play would be more appropriate. Fitz isn’t exactly athletic.”

Grant knows. He does, after all, have eyes. And enough common sense to figure out that a pale Scottish man who spends all his free time in a laboratory isn’t likely a sports enthusiast.

"And that’s the beauty of it," he explains to Jemma, "he doesn’t have to participate. He just has to watch. We’ll get beer and hot dogs, and do that bonding you’ve been begging us to do."

Jemma sighs again, and this time Grant’s pretty sure it’s in resignation rather than frustration. That’s good, because he already bought the tickets. He could probably sell them on StubHub, but that’s a hassle. He’d rather just go to the game.

"Fine, but you need to look after him. If there’s any sort of brawl, you get him out of there," she says.

"Jemma," Grant gives her a soft smile, "it’s baseball, not hockey."


	12. Upgrade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texts From Last Night Prompt Meme

_(804):he brought with him gifts of cookie dough and penis. upgrading our relationship from fwb's to bf/gf was an incredibly smart merger._

The text on her phone reads, _movie night tonight?_

Jemma looks from her empty fridge, to the large pile of schoolwork on the table, to the just purchased box of condoms lying next to her coat.

The schoolwork is just going to have to wait.

She texts back, _Sounds good but I need to eat dinner first._

As expected, the reply comes back quickly, _I can pick up Chinese on my way over._

Really, she’d have quit the whole casual thing a long time ago if she’d known boyfriends brought food over so often.


	13. At the Drive-In

“Where did you even find this place?” Jemma asks, once Grant’s parked the car facing backwards.

“Google,” he tells her.

“Oh good, you’re learning to work with technology,” she teases.

“Hey, I work with technology plenty,” he protests as he grabs an armful of pillows out of the backseat and pops open the trunk of the SUV. “In fact, I’m the one who has to use all the tech you and Fitz build, in case you forgot.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. We work extra hard to make sure their use is intuitive,” Jemma helps him rearrange the pillows so they can sit comfortably in the trunk, then climbs in.

“Are you insulting my intelligence?” Grant settles in next to her and pops open the cooler.

“Not at all, I’m just making the logical observation that you are not at mine and Fitz’s level,” she says.

He’s pretty sure that’s at least partially an insult, but he ignores it. They have a rare evening off, and he’s managed to find a way to spend it alone with Jemma. There’s no way he’s letting a petty argument ruin it.

He reaches into the cooler and pulls out two cans of soda, handing one to Jemma.

“So what are we watching?” she asks. “You said it was a double feature?”

Grant shrugs, and leans in closer to Jemma, “Honestly, I wasn’t paying attention. It doesn’t matter to me.”


	14. Housewarming

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?” Grant asks through gritted teeth as they approach the door to Skye’s apartment building.

“Because we are supportive friends and, contrary to whatever it is that you believe, it won’t kill you to get out and socialize every now and then,” Jemma responds as though it was a legitimate question, and now just Grant’s way of complaining.

His hand is reaching for the buzzer, but he drops it to his side as she says, “Hey, I socialize plenty.”

“Of course you do,” Jemma pats him on the arm in what should be a comforting manner, but he can’t help but feel that she’s being patronizing. “You get drinks with Trip after work every other week, and sometimes you even let him invite Fitz and Mack along.”

Yeah, she’s definitely being patronizing.

“You and I go out,” he tries to argue, leaning against the apartment door. Jemma reaches past him to ring the doorbell, seeing easily through his feeble attempt to delay actually going inside.

“Yes, we do go out. Once a week. For dinner,” the amusement is clear in Jemma’s voice. “And every now and then you make a show inviting me to do something you know won’t interest me,” like rock climbing, or going to see a pretentious foreign language film.”

“Foreign language films are not pretentious,” he says, almost wishing that Skye would hurry downstairs and let them in. Even a party would be less uncomfortable than this conversation is making him feel.

“The ones you go to certainly are,” Jemma counters. He must not be hiding his discomfort as well as he thought, because her face softens and she adds, “Grant, I love every part of you, even the one that is content to live like a hermit ninety-percent of the time.”

He smiles at her little joke, to show that he’s not holding what she’s said against him. He doesn’t consider himself a hermit by any means (and if this was a real argument, he’s remind her about his well-used passport to prove it), but knows that Jemma likes spending time with other people far more than he does. And a lot of the time she compromises on what she wants to do to stay home with him.

Hell, he even appreciates the fact that she forces him to go out and spend time with other people on a regular basis (like tonight).

But he’s not going to admit that. It would just make her do it more often, and her current pace is enough for him.

Instead, the moment he hears the pounding of feet heading down the stairs, he plasters his best grin (okay, it’s more of his least miserable expression) on his face, and takes the gift Jemma’s holding out of her hands.

“Congratulations on the new place,” he says when Skye swings the door open, holding out the present for her.

She grabs it and pulls him into a hug, commenting, “I assume Jemma picked that out?”


	15. Dig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> archaeologists AU

“Well you’re taking this better than I anticipated,” Jemma drops two large glasses of beer on the table before taking a seat across from him.

“How so?” Grant asks.

He’s starting to think Jemma Simmons has made him her pet project. In the week they’ve been here she’s joined him at lunch every day, told him which of the communal showers runs out of hot water first, saved him one of the good rolls at breakfast, and invited him to join her and her friends on an overnight trip this weekend (he hasn’t committed yet).

She’s also warned him not to let Fitz near the schnapps, but that was probably for the Scot’s benefit as much as his own.

Either way, he’s starting to enjoy, and even look forward to, her company. She’s upbeat, even at their 6AM breakfasts, and her stories from past digs make the rides (or walks, when they’re anticipating lighter work days) to site pass more quickly.

“Usually all the new students are complaining about something. The heat, the bugs, the long work day, shared bunks, paying thousands of dollars for the privilege of performing manual labor,” she smiles even wider on the last part. “Fitz still grumbles about the early mornings.”

Grant knows, he has to hear it when the alarm on Trip’s phone goes off every morning.

“I went to military school,” Grant offers as an explanation.

Jemma’s eyes widen in surprise; he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with the personal details thus far.

“And how does one go from military school to majoring in Latin Language and Literature?” she asks. She actually sounds interested, not just polite.

“Legal adulthood and an academic scholarship,” he doesn’t elaborate and, thankfully, she doesn’t pry. The shock is still written on her face, though.

“Alright,” she says, then pauses and changes the subject. “I’m afraid you’ve missed out on a dig rite of passage, though.”

She sounds so sincere that he can’t help but play along. He leans in over the table and asks, “And what exactly is that?”

Jemma pushes one of the glasses across the table to him, “Drinking to excess. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but since it’s your first time I thought we’d do it the traditional way.”

Grant picks the glass up off the table and holds it up towards her, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she gently knocks her glass against his and they each take a large gulp. When she lays the glass back down on the table, her nose is crinkled in disgust.

It takes him maybe a minute to polish off his glass (she did say drinking to excess, and one beer isn’t going to cut it), and hers. While he’s draining the second drink, she goes to the bar, and returns with four shots of what he assumes is the dreaded schnapps.

Those she has no problem finishing, although just two seems to make her even chattier than usual.

“So are you going to come with us this weekend?” she asks, after he’s done the last shot. “We still need one more to fill up the rooms on Saturday night.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Jemma’s smile, but either way he finds himself saying yes.


	16. Plan

"This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in."

"This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in," Jemma tells him, then mutters under her breath, "Someone has to make sure you don’t die in the process."

"I heard that," Ward calls over his shoulder as he walks away. He needs to be more heavily armed for this.

"You were supposed to," she calls back, loudly, not caring who hears. 

He’s rushing headfirst into danger without a sold plan, again. Everyone should know so they don’t feel too bad when he comes back grievously injured, or worse.

When he reappears fifteen minutes later, he’s wearing two more guns and three knives (not that she can tell), and carrying rolls of blue and black fabric.

"So when’s the plane landing?" she asks, closing and locking her emergency med-kit. There are about a hundred different ways for this to go wrong, but she’s only managed to pack enough to deal with about half of them.

"It’s not," he unrolls the stuff in his hands. They’re jumpsuits, the kind one wears when jumping out of a plane.

"Absolutely not," he face goes white.

"It’s gotta be stealth," he tells her.

"Our planes are invisible," she argues.

"But large," he counters. There are only so many places we can land, and they’ll be watching all of them."

Jemma swallows against the lump in her throat then says, “Remind me again how many lives this will save.”

"Dozens," he says calmly. "Most of which are innocent children."

"You’d better catch me," she grumbles, deciding that anger will serve her better than fear right now.

She storms off to the cargo bay.

"Every time," he follows after her.


	17. "Sit down, I'll get it."

“Just so we’re clear, this means you’re making dinner tomorrow,” Jemma tells him.

She still sounds angry. There will be no sweet-talking his way out of this one.

Grant watches from his spot on the couch as Jemma turns on the stovetop and begins boiling a large pot of water. When she sets the store-bought sauce and the frozen meatballs out on the counter, he knows he’s in deep shit.

Jemma loves to cook. Their kitchens is packed full of a variety of fancy ingredients and gadgets. Jemma has made spaghetti and meatballs before, but that was with hand pressed zucchini noodles and home made sauce.

The pre-made stuff is usually for him, on nights when she stays late at the lab.

Using it now is the Jemma Simmons equivalent of leaving him to starve.

He’d better start trying to make things up to her now, if he doesn’t want to spend the night on the couch.

Grant rises to his feet, against his body’s protests. When he’s sure Jemma isn’t watching him out of the corner of her eye, he lifts his shirt to make sure he hasn’t ripped any stitches.

All good.

Jemma glares at him over her book as he enters the kitchen. He smiles reassuringly, and she glares even harder.

When she’s distracted by the boiling water, he inches across the room. Grabbing a colander from one of the under the counter cabinets doesn’t put too much strain on his injuries, though it does hurt pretty badly.

He’s reaching up into one of the higher cabinets for the plates when Jemma snaps, “Sit down, I’ll get it.”

It’s like she has eyes in the back of her head.

He reaches forwards again and she tells him, “If you ruin your stitches, I’m letting you bleed out.”

He decides it’s safer to start making a salad.

Jemma has to stand on her tiptoes to reach the plates, but he lets her. He focuses on tearing up lettuce and not chopping his fingers off as he slices a tomato.

He seriously doubts that another injury will do anything to defrost Jemma’s icy mood.

They eat tensely, his polite inquiries about her day met with stony silence, and finally, “Great, until I was called into the hospital wing to see to you.”

He’s banished back to the couch before he can offers to help load the dishwasher.

“I’m sorry,” he says when she joins him in the living room with her book.

“Are you going to do it again?” she asks.

They both know the answer. It’s his job.

“Yes.”

She sighs and returns to her book, although he can tell she’s not actually reading.

“Are you going to stop lying to me about it?” she asks after a few moments.

He had been trying to save her some worry. He thought he’d be in and out with her none the wiser.

Clearly, that didn’t pan out.

And now she’ll probably worry that he’s getting shot at every time he leaves her sight.

He might have messed up big time.

“Yes,” he promises.

Her shoulders relax just the tiniest bit and she gets out of the chair.

“I’m taking a bath,” she tells him. “Remember to turn off the lights before you come to bed.”

It’s actually more than he thought he’d get. He can work with this. Tomorrow, when she’s less likely to murder him for trying.


End file.
